Iced
by FallenAngel218
Summary: Tim is forced to find help on foot in sub-zero weather after his car goes off the road in the Shenandoah hills.


_**Notes:** Written for the NCIS Titular Challenge (part II) and the No-Dialogue Challenge (on the NFA Forum). It's based partly on personal experience (I have never crashed in a snowstorm, but I've had to walk long distances in close-to-sub-zero temps, and it isn't fun. Thankfully I survived and didn't come out with anything other than very mild frostbite)._

The snow was coming down in sheets as Tim drove down the winding mountains through Shenandoah. He'd been sent alone to interview a witness, and it had taken him longer than he expected. He'd been hoping to beat out the winter storm, but he obviously wasn't so lucky.

He decreased his speed as he came to a curve, and eased the sedan around it. He breathed a sigh of relief as he cleared the last drop-off of his descent down the mountain. He'd been nervous that he'd slide off the road and end up smashed on the rocks at the bottom of the mountain. With no desire to be the next person on one of Ducky's tables, Tim kept a close eye on his speed, and on the raod ahead.

A blur of color suddenly flew in front of the sedan, and Tim panicked and hit his brakes, sure that what he saw was an animal. He felt the car start to spin, and hurriedly tried to get it back under control. The car spun three times, sliding down the hill three hundred feet, and went off the road and into a ditch.

Tim was knocked out for only a few minutes. The car was still running when he woke up, so he quickly turned it off.

 _Great... Gibbs is going to kill me._

A quick self-diagnostic left him relieved to be relatively uninjured, aside from a few scrapes and bruises. He took out his cell phone to call NCIS, and was terrified to find that he had no cell signal.

 _Stupid storm. How am I going to get out of here?_

Tim tested the door, and it opened.

 _Maybe if I start walking, I'll run into someone who can help me._

He checked the current temperature using the weather app on this phone.

 _Great, it's 5 degrees out here, with a -10 wind chill._

The decision wasn't a hard one to make. If he was going to die doing his job, he didn't want to do it on the side of the road in a snowstorm. He reached into the backseat and grabbed a backpack he'd brought with a few essentials. His WEBELOS days had not left him, and he always packed for the weather. In his bag were an extra pair of gloves, heat packs to warm his hands (and feet, if necessary), extra socks, and an extra battery for his cell phone.

He brought up the map function on his phone, and pinned his location. He zoomed in on the map to get more details on where he was. He scrolled the map until he came up with a business.

 _I'm at least four and a half miles from any kind of civilization. I'm going to die of hypothermia before I make it off this mountain._

Armed with his pack and a Google map, Tim got out of the car and climbed up the embankment to the road. He looked at his map, and started walking.

 **~*~*~*~**

For the first 30 minutes, Tim could feel his body progressively losing heat. He could feel the cold right down to his bones. He'd worn a heavy coat that day, but hadn't bothered with layers. He could feel the cold air right through his pants, and it was sucking the warmth right out of him.

 _Why does this always happen to me?_

Tim shivered as he continued down the unplowed road. Why hadn't a plow come yet? He expected to at least see _one_ truck cleaning the roads.

 _Maybe they're waiting out the storm... the roads are obviously not driveable. What the hell was I thinking coming up here alone with a winter storm on the way?_

The road curved, and Tim tried to keep himself moving. He knew that soon he'd lose feeling in his legs, and he needed to keep the circulation going in his limbs. He trudged on through the snow. He'd make it down the mountain. He wasn't allowed to die... Gibbs had told him so.

~*~*~*~*~

After the second 30 minutes, Tim started to slow down. He had lost the ability to feel anything in his legs and feet. He wasn't even sure if his feet were touching the ground as he walked. He was nearing the curve at the base of the mountain, and he remembered a cabin at the bottom - a general store or something.

 _Whatever it is, it has heat, and I have to get there._

He slowly walked around the curve as the feeling started to leave his fingers. He wanted desperately to get out the hand warmers in his pack, but he was afraid that if he stopped walking, he wouldn't be able to start again.

The ice was hidden under a blanket of snow, and Tim didn't even feel himself sliding until he hit the ground. He rolled six feet down the hill, and stopped at the base of the curve. His backpack kept going, however, and slid off the road and down into the woods.

Tim lay on the ground, staring at the sky. The snow whipped down on him.

 _I can't feel anything. I need to get back up and keep moving, but I can't feel anything!_

He attempted to roll over onto his stomach, and was successful. Next, he put his gloved hands down in front of him to push himself up.

 _Nothing's happening... why can't I get up? Oh God, am I paralyzed? Oh God..._

Tim moved his hand again, and a wave of relief washed over him when he felt a small amount of pressure. He'd managed to find the ground with his hands. He pushed himself up, slipping and sliding.

 _My pack... where did it - oh no... Oh no I lost it! Great... I had better keep moving._

Tim slowly started to walk... He felt as if he were learning to walk for the first time.

 _One foot in front of the other... Slowly... There you go, McGee... you can still walk. Get your ass down this mountain!_

He continued his trek toward civilization. If the Google map was right, he only had to walk for another 20 minutes or so, and he'd finally be safe, and he could call Gibbs.

 _I'm almost there! I am not going to die. I won't._

George Miller didn't have visitors, especially this time of year. It was the way he liked it. When he came out onto his back porch to collect more wood for the fire, he found that he had a visitor for the first time in three years. Only this visitor was crawling toward his porch steps.

 _Dear sweet Jesus... he's nearly dead!_

He rushed down the steps to the aid of the freezing man, just as he lost consciousness. He picked him up and carried him into the house. He laid him on the carpet next to the fireplace. He knew that if this man had frostbite, direct heat from the fire was the last thing he should do, but he needed to start warming him up.

George carefully removed Tim's shoes and wet socks, and examined his feet. Next, he carefully removed Tim's wet slacks. He was horrified at how red the young man's skin was. He was sure it was frostbite he was dealing with, but he wasn't sure if it was something he should treat by himself.

He removed Tim's coat and shirt, leaving Tim in boxer shorts and under-shirt. He opened up the basket next to the couch and took a couple of blankets, and covered the young man up with them. After he was sure everything wet was now removed, he grabbed his landline phone and called 911. He explained to the dispatcher what he was dealing with, and she promised to dispatch a medical chopper up the mountain as soon as conditions were acceptable for flight. In the meantime, she instructed him to gradually rewarm the patient.

George went into his bathroom and ran a bath at the temperature the operator had told him. He tested the water himself before retrieving his guest. The man was flitting in and out of consciousness, and George encouraged him to try and stay awake... that they were going to warm him up.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The last clear memory Tim had was crawling in the snow. He thought he saw a set of wooden steps, but he was probably hallucinating.

Blackness set in as he saw his hand reach for the bottom step.

He had flashes of a man, and remembered the smell of a fire. It wasn't until he felt warmth enveloping his body, that he knew he was either dead, or that someone had found him. He wasn't entirely sure which one it was.

A voice flitted through his unconscious memory... telling him he was going to be all right, that help was on the way.

 _Right. Help. I'm probably hallucinating, and lying in the road on the mountain somewhere, about to die. No one is going to save me._

George kept him in the bath for 20 to 30 minutes, all the while keeping the water temperature warm. He could see blisters forming on the young man's skin as his body rewarmed.

 _Where the hell is that damn chopper?_

After 30 minute of rewarming, George lifted his young charge out of the tub, and brought him back into the living room. He laid him on the couch, and wrapped him in blankets. He retreated to his bedroom and came out with a clean pair of sweatpants. He had to remove the rest of Tim's wet clothing before he put him in the bath, and he didn't want the young man to feel self-conscious, should he wake up. George carefully helped Tim into the sweatpants, and settled him back into the blankets.

There's nothing to do now but wait on that chopper.

George stoked the fire and sat in his chair.

And waited.

~*~*~*~*~*~

When Tim woke up, he found himself in the hospital.

 _So I survived... but how?_

He felt a hand on his arm. He felt it. It was so good to feel again.

The hand belonged to Gibbs. He asked how long he'd been here, and Gibbs told him everything. He told him how he'd been found two days prior by a man who lived on the mountain, and that the man's quick thinking saved his life.

He would be out of work for a couple of weeks while he recuperated, Gibbs told him, and he would be staying at Gibbs' house, and he wasn't allowed to argue about it.

Tim didn't have the strength to argue. He was just glad to be alive.

And warm.

 **FINIS!**


End file.
